As I Love,Loved Am I
by TheImaginationAddict
Summary: A day from Anne and Gilbert's honeymoon. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:L M Montgomery owns Anne and Gilbert,not I.**

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><p><em>That September was a month of golden mists and purple hazes at Four Winds Harbor-a month of sun-steeped days and of nights that were swimming in moonlight, or pulsating with stars. No storm marred it, no rough wind blew. Anne and Gilbert put their nest in order, rambled on the shores, sailed on the harbor, drove about Four Winds and the Glen,or through the ferny, sequestered roads of the woods around the harbor head; in short, had such a honeymoon as any lovers in the world might have envied them.<em>

"I am not going to do ANY useful work today." declared Anne resolutely, after clearing away the remains of breakfast one morning, a few days after they had moved into their 'house o' dreams'. "There is only so much pleasure that can be found in scouring and scrubbing, and a day more of this will find me feeling as 'dusty and grimy and faded and dull' as the things I have been cleaning!"

Gilbert folded up his newspaper and looked at her earnestly. "What do you want to do this day, then, O Anne mine? Echoing the age-old words of that liberated genie of the Arabian Nights – Your wish is my command!"

Anne smiled animatedly. "Let's go exploring, Gilbert! I haven't seen anything of Four Winds past my little garden and the fir wood beyond, and I want to 'get acquainted' with it; any place feels like home only when I discover all the woods and paths – all the 'secret places', as we used to call them in days of yore. I'll pack a picnic basket and we can roam about to our heart's content – 'without letting physical impediments hinder us' as the minister said in church last week."

"But wouldn't making the picnic lunch fall into the category of _useful _work, Anne-girl?" murmured Gilbert slyly.

"'Tis only _work_ when you feel forced to do it", said Anne loftily. "Besides, a picnic isn't useful, I'm sure Mrs. Lynde would think it a frivolous, purpose-less and wasteful pastime! So there!"

Gilbert laughed and left to call on a few patients nearby, promising to return within two hours.

The sun was midway in its ascent to the top of the cloudless sky, when Anne and Gilbert set out. They were headed inland, but the sea was never far from sight, the shimmering waves splashing against the shore – a glimmering, radiant blanket of aquamarine. They climbed the low hill behind the house, and though it was carpeted with the softest of green grasses, they strolled on, for, as Anne said, "A picnic spot is never perfect without trees, and flowers, and streams – or at the very least, without atleast _one_ of them."

At the summit, Gilbert paused thoughtfully. "The other day, when I went to check on Mrs. Stebbins, I had passed by a small wood, down this side of the hill and near the foot of those cliffs. I'm sure it would perfectly satisfy your dryad-like craving Anne! I was in a bit of a hurry, so I didn't linger, but we can explore and appreciate it as much as you want, now." Anne, her eyes shining, agreed, and they continued, hand in hand, breathing in the salty-sweet scent of the wind on their faces. A seagull flew by overhead, squawking loudly in the still midday silence, and Anne smiled softly.

"What is it, Anne?" asked Gilbert softly, his eyes ever on the mobile, expressive face.

Her joyous eyes turned towards him. "The poets talk of hearing symphonies and orchestras in their heads when in love – but, for once, I don't think they mean _music,_ Gilbert… when you are with the person who loves you, who _knows _you so well – everything seems so romantic and perfect and beautiful that one can imagine melodies in everything – the soft breath of the wind around, the rustle of falling leaves," with a laugh, "even the shrill cry of a seagull!"

Gilbert's reply was not verbal, but Anne seemed well-satisfied with his response, for her eyes were shining as she presently stared about her, from the circle of his arms.

"Oh!"

They had reached the copse of trees which Gilbert had discovered; and Anne walked into it softly, reverently, 'drinking in' the beauty of her surroundings, spellbound. The grove had trees of mixed types – crabapple trees, smoke trees, oaks and willows. The grassy ground, tinted yellow by the sunlight streaming in, was carpeted with yellow and pink flowers. The leaves and branches of the trees twined about above their heads, making a careless canopy – for they didn't keep the sun out – rather, the wood seemed flooded by sunshine, making anything that entered it glow and sparkle with life.

"Oh Gilbert, isn't this just the perfect place for magical things to happen? It is so easy to imagine this as a place where fairy kings and queens dance, pixies and elves cavort, and enchantments and spells are woven. The very air shimmers in the light, and look, my _clothes_ are glowing, as well! _'Tis too wondrous to behold!'" _And Anne whirled about in a very frivolous manner, which was not at all befitting the position of a responsible, mature married woman – rather, like a light-hearted young girl in the transports of first new born love.

Gilbert had followed her into the shade of a weeping willow, which was bent over, next to a small stile, as if welcoming them with an embrace. His adoring eyes followed the laughing, radiant figure of his wife, his own beloved Anne, and he quoted softly,

"_She was a Phantom of delight_

_When first she gleam'd upon my sight;_

_A lovely Apparition, sent_

_To be a moment's ornament;_

_Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;_

_Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;_

_But all things else about her drawn_

_From May-time and the chearful Dawn;_

_A dancing Shape, an Image gay,_

_To haunt, to startle, and way-lay._

_I saw her upon nearer view,_

_A Spirit, yet a Woman too!"_

She turned to him then, and the love-light in her eyes was for him alone, and he felt himself crowned the king of that fairy place, with her – his beautiful, ethereal queen.

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><p>"Well, have you collected enough memories to make you feel 'at home' in Four Winds, Anne-girl?" asked Gilbert lazily, smiling up at her from where he lay, his head on her lap.<p>

"Hmm.", said Anne absently, staring dreamily away into the world which one can only see with the eyes of the mind, her fingers playing with his hair. The sun was on the verge of bidding adieu for the day, and the mild dusk created interesting shadows in the wood (_Their _wood, as Anne would always think of it, henceforth), though the glowing light had faded.

She grinned at him. "This is just the beginning – we still have hundreds of jokes to share, walks to ramble, and beautiful memories to collect, before the air of Four Winds becomes so drenched with the music of our laughter that it begins to echo our mirth!"

He chuckled and sat up. "Then in anticipation of all the beauteous spots to be encountered and lovely remembrances to be fashioned – shouldn't we christen this grove, as a reminder of our first happy hours here? What would you suggest, my ever-imaginative Anne?"

Anne looked around and smiled. "Why, it's The Glade of Golden Sunshine, of course."

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><p><strong>AN:This is the first time I've written about Anne and Gilbert after their marriage, and the credit for the inspiration of this fic(and the name 'The Glade of Golden Sunshine') goes to Vee22 – a special Thank You! :D**

**The lines are from the poem 'She Was a Phantom of Delight' by William Wordsworth. The title of this fanfic is the last line of a song from Jane Eyre, which Mr Rochester sings to Jane.**

****The Glade of Golden Sunshine actually exists(it was the inspiration for this whole story) The link to the photos are on my profile,if you are interested to see them.****

****And as always, its very motivating to hear your thoughts on my stories - so _please_ review! ****


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